Our Selves of Tomorrow
by wilfred the pickle
Summary: Edgeworth has been sinking deeper and deeper into depression for a long time now, and his unresolved feelings toward Phoenix only make his condition worse. Phoenix never realises how far Edgeworth is willing to go to save him-and himself. Onesided NaruMitsu, rated T for suicidal thoughts and ideation, see inside for full warnings.


**Title: ****Our Selves of Tomorrow  
****Author: ****wilfred the pickle  
****Fandom: ****Ace Attorney  
****Rating: ****M-suicidal thoughts, suicide ideation, depression, passing mentions of rape and murder, overall angst. Could be triggering.  
****Pairing: ****Onesided NaruMitsu.  
****Disclaimer: ****I don****'****t own anything in the Ace Attorney universe, nor do I own the song Vivi by Kenshi Yonezu, although the lyrics posted at the very end are actually an English adaptation of the original lyrics by me, so I guess I own those. **

**A/N: ****This was just me trying to get back into the angst groove, seeing as I just wrote a humorous oneshot for a friend that I may or may not post on here. I don't know if I succeeded or not. Let me know?**

* * *

Edgeworth had, until then, thought that the phrase 'crushing depression' was just that-a phrase. A metaphor. He never thought that one could slip so far into depression that it actually became painful. The first time he'd felt the weight heavy in his soul, keeping him immobilized in his place, he'd simply shrugged it off as a one time thing and carried on with his day as well as he could. He'd been wrong, of course. Nothing was ever simple in his life. The sporadic bouts of depression hit fast and hard, more often than Edgeworth supposed was healthy. He still never went to a doctor; he would always let them take their own course, regardless of how it made him act. He didn't need friends anyway.

By the time he'd finally worked out that what he was experiencing wasn't normal, the short bursts of depression had morphed into one long, drawn out feeling that never stopped. It was a constant cloud hanging over him-always raining, but never lifting. His doctor had give him medication, but they made him feel nauseous and clouded. Slow. He stopped taking them, thinking he knew what was best for him. He knew what was best for his own body, dammit. It was _his_ body! But after a few months passed, Edgeworth realised that pouring all his pills down the sink wasn't such a good idea.

He never slept. He could barely eat. Anything anyone said to him made him want to snap at them. He could barely focus in court, the cloud of depression above him making him feel paranoid that everyone was pointing and laughing at his mistakes. When he got home, he did just that. He would replay the entire trial in his head and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't stop finding fault in everything he said or did. A voice spoke to him from the dark recesses of his mind, telling him he was worthless, pathetic, imperfect. After a while, he started to believe it.

It was after a particularly intense trial that the real self-loathing set in. He'd practically let Phoenix win the entire damn trial with his own mistakes, and he hadn't missed the weird look on the attorney's face whenever he slipped up. The less rational part of Edgeworth's brain told him that Phoenix was silently judging him, rather than just confused or concerned. He tried not to believe it, but his own paranoia ended up getting the better of him. The fact that he had a slight..._attraction_ to Phoenix just made it even worse. As far as he knew, Phoenix was completely straight, and would never bat an eyelid in Edgeworth's direction.

_I'll never be enough for him._

_I'll never be enough for anyone.  
_  
So now when Phoenix invites him out for drinks after the trial in the courtroom lobby, Edgeworth is mildly surprised.

"Why?" he asks coolly, raising an eyelid. He curses; he hadn't meant to sound so callous. _Just say yes and shut up, damn it!_

Phoenix laughs nervously. "Do I need a reason? Fine, is 'I want to spend a night out with a friend' enough for you?"

_Friends will never be enough for me_, Edgeworth thinks bitterly. Instead, he attempts a lopsided smile and says, "Good enough for me."

Phoenix looks taken aback that Edgeworth has agreed to his proposition so quickly, but covers fast and smiles. "Great! How does seven o'clock sound?"

"Sounds good. Where?" Edgeworth tries to put as much conviction in his voice as possible, but ultimately sounds forced. If Phoenix notices, it doesn't show.

"There's a great place I know not too far from here called The Slaughtered Pig, it serves great-"

"The Slaughtered Pig."

"Yeah...yeah, the name is misleading. What I was going to say was that it serves great burgers. And great steak, for a man of your tastes," Phoenix adds hastily.

"I'll eat a burger if I want to," Edgeworth replies absently. It comes out more irritated than he felt it would, but once it's out there, he can't take it back. Once again, Phoenix doesn't seem to take it as an insult.

"Really? Great! Because honestly, I've never had one of their steaks, so I couldn't say if they were that great anyway." Phoenix smiled sheepishly. "Does that make me sound weird? Lying about steak just so you'll come hang out with me?"

"Not at all," Edgeworth replies with a slightly bitter tone, because if Phoenix knew what Edgeworth dreams about doing to him, he'd never want to 'hang out' with him ever again.

* * *

Edgeworth tries his best to be sociable during the evening; politely answering all of Phoenix's questions, laughing when he is meant to, appearing as if he is having a good time. The truth is, it's only fifteen minutes into their little '_appointment_' as Edgeworth calls it in his mind, and the prosecutor is already entranced by the shape of Phoenix's lips, the little mannerisms that make up his movements, his bright, sky blue eyes…

_Stop it._

Edgeworth can't take any more of it.

He orders a huge glass of the most alcoholic beverage the bar offers and downs half of it in one go. The bitter taste burns his throat, but in a soothing way; the pain makes him feel real again, like his suffering is somehow validated. He's far away in a different world by the time that Phoenix realises that he should probably stop his friend from drinking himself to death. He places a hand over Edgeworth's, stopping him from finishing his drink.

"I think you've had enough," the attorney says quietly, taking the drink from the prosecutor's hand. Edgeworth realises dimly that he must be a lightweight, seeing as he hasn't even finished his glass and he already feels drunk off his head.

"What's the time?" he slurs, looking for a watch on his wrist only to realise that he forgot to put one on.

"Eight o'clock," Phoenix answers smoothly, putting a arm around Edgeworth's shoulders and helping him to his feet. "Listen, I think we should go now."

_Why now? _Edgeworth begs silently. _I was just beginning to enjoy it, to escape…_

Instead Edgeworth simply moans, and hopes that his friend can understand that as a yes. Phoenix chuckles and tips the bartender, giving her a 'what can you do' smile.

"Come on, lightweight," Phoenix sighs, hauling him outside and sitting him down on a bench. "I'm calling a taxi. No way I'm letting you drive home."

"…car?" Edgeworth manages to say.

"What? Oh, your car…" Phoenix bites his lip. "I'll get Larry to pick it up and drop it back at your house. what's your address?"

"…hmhhm?"

Phoenix sighs. "Okay, he can drop it off at my house, and when you're not completely wasted, you can pick it up. Deal?"

"…..yearmmm."

Phoenix chuckles and runs a hand down his face, scooting over closer to Edgeworth. "Seriously, what got into you tonight? Something tells me you're not the type to suddenly down an entire glass of beer and get completely smashed off your face very often."

And all Edgeworth can do then in his drunken state of mind is marvel at how _concerned_ and _kind_ and _amazing_ and _perfect_ Phoenix is right then, and he does the only thing that he hopes will make him feel better and not empty anymore and take away the sadness-and leans over and presses their lips together.

Phoenix freezes and for a second Edgeworth thinks that the man is going to have a fit and leave him in on the cold bench alone, but he just laughs and moves away.

"Geez, Edgeworth!" he exclaims, though his laughter sounds forced even to Edgeworth's ears. "You're drunker than I thought you were." He sits Edgeworth back upright on the bench and makes sure that he won't fall over. "Let's hope the taxi comes soon."

As if on cue, the taxi pulls up to the curb, and Phoenix helps Edgeworth to his feet while telling the driver that _no, my friend won't throw up all over the upholstery, his apartment isn't too far from here, I obviously can't let him drive in this state and if you don't take us, well, I'm a lawyer, and I can sue… _The rest of the conversation Edgeworth doesn't hear, because at that moment, he knows that he'll only ever be Phoenix's friend and nothing more.

* * *

The next morning he wakes up in his own bed and immediately feels the urge to vomit.

And vomit he does. He gets up and races to the bathroom before leaning over the toilet bowl just in time to bring up everything that was in his stomach from the night before. Once again the depression overtakes him; the lights are too bright and hurting his head, he wants to sleep for the rest of his life, and everything feels wrong and forced.

Once he's finished retching, he gets an idea. He stands in front of his bathroom mirror and no matter how wrong it feels, he tries to smile. The notion feels stiff and forced, like the muscles have simply frozen. The mirror agrees with him; nothing looks right on his face except for the sad, lifeless look that's now become his default expression. He sighs and runs a hand through his hair, not caring at how disheveled he looks. Everything seems dull, grey, colourless-but that moment when his lips connected with Wright's, the whole world burst into colour again.

_Oh no. I have work._

He decides that he should at least make himself look slightly presentable for work-he doesn't have a trial today, thank god, but people still rush in and out of his office these days, so he has to make sure he doesn't look like he's on the verge of a nervous breakdown like he feels he is. He goes through the motions, cleaning his teeth (the toothpaste doing wonders to rid the taste of bile from his mouth) washing his face (not doing anything but making his hairline slightly damp, which wasn't such a good look) and shaving. He's amazed he doesn't cut himself on accident, what with his hands shaking so much.

_Maybe it would be better if I had._

He looks down at the razor, lifting it to his wrist experimentally, before panicking and dropping it clumsily on the floor, running over to the toilet bowl and throwing up bile again.

_What am I doing?_

* * *

Work is brutal. By one o'clock in the afternoon he's already snapped at his secretary, Gumshoe, a handful of other detectives, a few other district prosecutors, and he very nearly gets chewed out by the High Prosecutor. Edgeworth isn't sure of how much more of it he can handle, so as soon as he gets the chance, he does the unthinkable and heads home 'sick'. It takes everything he has not to start to cry on the way home, and when he finally arrives, he leaves the car unlocked and throws himself onto his bed, sobbing for what feels like no reason. The heavy cloud upon him returns in greater force than ever, and all he wants is for it to end, damn it, _why won't it end_-

His phone rings. Edgeworth isn't sure that he can keep the sobs out of his voice to answer it, so he checks the number; it's Phoenix. He can't even begin of speaking to him right now, so he lets it go to voicemail and turns his phone off completely. He lies there for the rest of the night, sometimes sobbing, sometimes just staring, unmoving, unblinking. A few times he goes into the bathroom to stare at the razor, thinking about what an easy way out it would be, how nobody would miss him, how it would be better for everyone if he just left their lives…

….but something stops him, and all Edgeworth wishes is that whatever is holding him back would just leave him be and let him end his pain.

_I'm so weak_, he thinks, daring himself to pick up the razor, but all he can do is stare.

_He'll never love me._

_Nobody ever does._

* * *

Late at night, Edgeworth finds himself climbing the fire exit stairs up to the roof.

It's dark, and the stars are out. Edgeworth likes to imagine that his father is watching him from the sky as one of those stars. Then he feels ashamed of what he's become, and fervently wishes that everything those Fey girls talk about is utter rubbish, that there are no such things ghosts. He knows it's not true, because he's seen it with his own eyes, but he'd rather delude himself than know that his father can see him now. Still, the stars seem so close, and if he reaches out and leans far enough, it almost seems like he could touch them-

He wobbles dangerously, before righting himself and breathing hard. He'd almost tumbled to his death. Logically, he knows he should be afraid of himself right now, that he should run down the stairs and lock himself in his bedroom until he's not a danger to himself anymore, but something keeps him rooted to the spot. The adrenaline makes him feel alive again, like he's not trapped in a dull, colourless world where the only things he can feel are disappointment and regret. A part of him wants to relive that experience again, reaching, leaning, wobbling, and then eventually falling, flying through the sky so fast that it only takes a second to register that he's going to die, but a second will be enough to realise that he can finally be at peace. He leans forward again, taking his hands away from the rusted stair railing to reach out to the stars before him…

…and yet again, he stops, that one little thing holding him back again, and only now does he realise just what that feeling is.

Phoenix. It's been that simple the entire time. He can't leave this world, end his suffering, until he makes amends to Phoenix, tells him what he truly feels. In that moment, Edgeworth feels both immensely enlightened and utter despair, because he knows that no matter how brave the face he puts on is, he will always be too much of a coward to ever speak his true feelings to the one he loves.

* * *

Edgeworth regrets many things in his life, but he is happy to say that he'll never regret doing this.

The case had been a fairly horrifying one; all over the city for almost six months, girls had been taken from their beds, raped brutally, and then murdered and dumped near bus stops. The defense attorney was Phoenix Wright, unsurprisingly. His client was a timid thirty-something man named Henry Stiff, and Phoenix's key witness was Jay L. Bait, a young fifteen year old girl who was dating the defendant. Her testimony served to prove that rather than an deluded hebephile who was raping and killing women in his spare time, he was just a lost soul who needed her careful guidance and attention. Edgeworth recogised the familiar desperation in her voice almost immediately-she was lying. Badly, it seemed. Phoenix seemed to realise something them; his face had lit up in realisation, and then in horror as he realised the severity of the situation.

Once again, he was defending a guilty man.

After that, Phoenix gave up all pretenses of a fight and let Edgeworth win the case, sending Jay into a frenzy.

"What are you doing?" she had all but screamed at Phoenix, prompting the bailiff to keep a restraining hand on her shoulder. "You're calling yourself a defense attorney? _Defend him_!"

And yet Phoenix said nothing, watching as the girl seemed to crumble in on herself and began to wail in despair as her boyfriend was let out of the court to his cell.

After that, court was dismissed and Edgeworth hurried to the defense lobby to find Phoenix sitting with his head in his hands, breathing heavily. Though he still felt like utter death itself, he found it within himself to sit beside the quivering man and offer him some semblance of support, just like Phoenix had done for him. He owed him that much.

"I did it again," the attorney had mumbled quietly , his head rising up slightly to meet Edgeworth's eyes. "How could I have missed it?"

"He was a sociopath," Edgeworth had responded equally as quiet, "that could fake any emotion he wanted. Jay was the real deluded one…she really believes he loves her."

"That doesn't make it better." Phoenix blows his nose on a tissue, and Edgeworth offers him a new one from his pocket. The attorney gratefully accepts. "I don't know how I missed how screwed up Jay was. _Is_. She's not going to be over this for a long time."

Then Edgeworth had thought back to when his own depression had started, and had found with some surprise that he couldn't remember. "No. Not for a long time," he agrees quietly. For a moment they sat in silence, before Phoenix clapped his hands against his thighs and stood up. The lobby was completely deserted then, eerily silent except for their harsh breathing.

"I need air," he announced, taking in a deep breath.

"I'll join you," Edgeworth offered, because he felt it was the least he could do after all that Phoenix had done for him. And truthfully, he'd do anything for Phoenix anyway.

Phoenix gave him a tired smile. "Thank you," he said, and with a start, Edgeworth realises that he can almost see the conviction in his friend's voice, and realises that he really means it.

It is then that they both stopped in their tracks.

Jay was standing there, her eyes feral and wild, hair unkempt, hands shaking, fingers curled and twitching around the trigger of a gun.

"Why didn't you defend him?" she had asked, her voice quivering as her eye twitched uncontrollably.

"Jay…" Phoenix had whispered, eyes trained solely on the barrel of the gun before him.

"We could still be together!" she had yelled suddenly, and it was with startling clarity that Edgeworth knew what he had to do.

Now, as he steps in front of Phoenix to shield him from the bullet, he hopes that Phoenix knows that this is his way of killing two birds with one stone. Edgeworth doesn't know if he'll live to tell his friend his true feelings, but he hopes that this is enough. Truth be told, he hopes that he never wakes up, because he's afraid that if this doesn't kill him, the feeling of never being good enough, never being worth it, always being disappointed and the agony of the cloud of depression above him will, and that would be a horrible way to die.

Now, as he steps in front of the bullet's path, he sees his friend's agonized face twist into a scream, hears the echo of the gunshot ringing in his ears, feels the bullet pierce his chest and splatter his body with blood, but he closes his eyes and blocks it out, because that's not what he wants to hear. Instead, he feels Phoenix's lips pressed against his, hears Phoenix say '_thank you'_, his voice filled with conviction and warmth, and sees his smiling, trusting face.

And for Edgeworth, it's enough.

* * *

_i love you so vivi_

_when tomorrow is set free_

_i shall have to say farewell_

_to this little sleepy town_

_leave it crumbling in the ground_

_as the ashes flutter down_

_as i turn my back away_

_i will leave you there to stay_

_- vivi, kenshi yonezu_

* * *

**Now I'm crying some manly tears. I think I may need to post that humour fic.**

**Like it? Hate it? Tell me! Thank you for reading!**


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